McKay's Flying Trapeze
by kris mcsherry
Summary: So much of the Ancient’s technology depends upon mind control, but what if you lost control of your mind? McKay has a medical problem, but he’s lost enough of his rational mind not to care. In this state, he dares to take matters into his own hands.


---1---- 

The Sky is Falling

McKay waved his teammates ahead, removed his rucksack and rested against a twisted tree---a widespread monument to prolonged precipitation. No rain had fallen for an hour, long enough to cover most of the distance back to the Jumper without wading through fresh mud puddles, drops obscuring one's sight. He told Sheppard he'd be right there, and the major waved in agreement, eager to get off the planet. It'd been a bust for food sources.

He took out a protein bar, tore it open. Primarily, he wanted to resurrect his breath, get the ruck off sore shoulders. Sheppard and Ford never slowed on hikes, pushing on as though they would be court-martialed for the slightest break in pace. Teyla kept up without complaint. It was tough to be bested by a woman, even one not from Earth.

There was a rustle in the branches. McKay glanced up, took a bite. Wind, another storm moving in. If he lollygagged, he'd have to catch up by swimming downhill. He heard the baby taps of sprinkles on leaves. Here we go again.

Finishing the snack, he picked up his ruck, found it had picked up something of its own, a glob of mud and twigs. He tossed the wrapper and crouched, brushed it off with a stick. The wind slapped a wayward branch into his face and he caught it before it could topple him into a puddle. With one hand, he cracked it, bending it away.

Another rustle, and he reached to push away another branch. This time something swung into his eyes, its mouth open. It spewed out a mist. He jumped back and cried out, plopped to the ground, got up quickly, hand over his heart. From a distance, he cringed, examining the creature. It hissed toward him, bad breath permeating the air over the odor of wet soil, hanging by a prehensile tail. It resembled a bearded dragon lizard, about the size of a possum, and dangled above his ruck, dripping rainwater.

"You scared the hell out of me," he said. "Get your own food, I hate sharing." He snatched the ruck, avoided the lizard's darting tongue. "Hope we never meet again." With that, he hurried down and joined his team.

In the Jumper, his nose began to run, eyes watering, tickle in the throat. Ford asked if he were catching a cold. McKay blew his nose and claimed it wouldn't be a surprise after enduring that insufferable black hole in the universe.

---2---

At home, the debriefing was brief, the first half predictable. Dr. Weir reported that the Ancient's desalination system had slowed down, decreasing three percent. Although the system could store enough purified water in tanks to supply the whole city, only a fraction was operational. If anything were to go critically wrong, anything prolonged, a shortage could arise. At this point, there was no reason for concern, but Weir asked McKay to investigate.

The meeting continued and the conversation segued into the next topic on the agenda. Midstream through the discussion, McKay was asked a question which he answered with an answer to the previous topic. Everyone laughed, eyes on him. His face went red, and they laughed again.

He wanted to walk out of the conference room. It wasn't like him; he was capable of juggling at least three conversations at once. He felt humiliated, certain they'd be saying McKay's mind wanders.

When they dismissed, he skipped another cup of coffee and left alone. Weir had dumped him with a trivial job and he'd made a fool of himself, come across like a dope. What his peers didn't know was that he'd been distracted with the vague impression that a Wraith illusion had floated by, just over his shoulder so that he'd turned to catch it. The first two times he'd presumed that someone was walking into the room and half-listened to the discussion, waiting for that someone to sit in the empty seat. Yet it didn't make sense, because he had neither seen anyone come through the door, nor had anyone sat down. The last time seemed real; he'd been taken aback. No one else said a thing.

Logging it in as stress, he headed to the main purification control station, situated near the center of the complex. The cold he believed he was getting never materialized and he wondered if he might have been exposed to citrus, prompting a mild reaction. Unexpectedly, a nagging sensation of ennui came upon him, and he felt as though he must either accept the boredom or languish in it. Absorbed in this mindset, he took an alternate route to the station to break the routine, walking until he felt less restless, more himself.

When he arrived at the station, Lieutenant Lowrey, the technician on duty, was at the console. Together, they worked the entire morning, eating lunch at the boards.

"All I need is time," McKay said, taking a bite of bread. "Essential, fundamental, pure, old-fashioned run-of-the-mill time. The Ancients conceived and designed their technology to perform with clockwork precision," he told Lowrey. "Invariably, they've always had a good reason for any deviations in that performance. This, I'm sure, will be the case in this case." He ran his results through a diagnostic, then sat staring at the monitor, fingertips resting on the keys.

"Dr. McKay?" Lowrey said. "Did you find something?"

McKay smelled apples.

"Doctor?"

McKay blinked, startled. "I'm...what do you want? No, nothing new. We'll try something else." Sweet apples streamed through the air. "They're baking today?"

"I wouldn't know, sir. Why?"

"I can't focus with so many interruptions," he said, adjusting his chair. In an instant, he had lost his concentration. The scent had summoned a memory, teetering at the tip of his mind, frustrating but not in the ordinary way. Because when it'd failed to surface, he'd gone blank, felt a surge of anxiety, as if he didn't know what to do next, or where he was. It was unsettling.

A loud thump seized his attention. It reverberated through the north wall, producing a vibration beneath their feet. McKay went to the entryway. "What in the world have they screwed up now?" He expected a swift follow-up investigation, a passing patrol.

Lowrey trailed him. "Sounds like something hit us."

The alarm rung. Weir's voice arose over the public address. "Everyone please remain calm, we are experiencing a meteor storm. We're well-protected. They can not permeate the city. As a precaution, please move to the inner corridors."

"Are we safe?" Lowrey asked.

"Perfectly. This city's built like a veritable fortress of tungsten and--"

The wall over their heads exploded; McKay and Lowrey ducked. An object rocketed past, skirting by on an angular path. It plummeted into the machinery, igniting the controls in a stentorian burst. Both men were flung into the hallway, side by side. McKay hit a support beam, head smacked against it, and slid to the floor to his stomach.

Lifting his head, he peered back into the station. A fire blazed high and grazed the ceiling. Smoke billowed from the console while the hole in the wall brimmed with flames. Their chairs had been cast to the floor, smoldering, melting. A second alert buzzed, and three spherical vents in the ceiling jettisoned a foul-smelling red spray that combined with the smoke, mixing deep orange. Some of the flames were extinguished, but the remainder expanded and swept across the ceiling, lapping out of the room and into the corridor.

"Lowrey." McKay coughed, twisted to his side. The lieutenant lay a few feet away, dotted with cuts. Crawling over, he nudged him. "Lowrey?"

"What happened?"

Blood trickled down McKay's temple. "Forget fortress," he said, touching his head. "We have to get out of here." Sitting, he tried to rise, legs wobbly, and fell back. Flames spread, cut over them. He dabbed his eyes with a sleeve and pulled out his handkerchief, covered his mouth. The smoke seemed to consume the red spray, traveling farther into the corridor. Against the wall, he forced himself up, eyes tearing, hot.

He grabbed Lowrey's arm. The lieutenant seemed stuck to the floor. Taking his wrists, McKay dragged him down the corridor, unable to see where to turn. The smoke thickened rapidly, collecting like a layer of brick, and he bent low beneath it. Trying again, he tripped, chose to drop to the floor where it was less dense. Additional vents had activated, but they were leaner streams, inadequate. He folded the lieutenant into a sitting position and got him to stand, hanging an arm over his neck. From the opposite way, McKay made out a crew of soldiers. They charged into the hallway, fire extinguishers blowing full blast.

Major Sheppard was with the group. "Anyone else with you?" he asked, supporting Lowrey's other arm.

"We were alone," McKay said. His eyes stung; he could barely keep them open.

Sheppard led them down an adjacent hallway into a storage room, sealing the doors. Lowrey's legs buckled and they sat him on a crate, McKay beside him. "You all right?" he said, holding McKay's shoulder.

"Not quite enough," he said. "The computer...my research."

"I'll get you a new one. You're both okay, that's the important thing." Sheppard called in their location and hurried to the entry. "Fire's moving fast, I gotta' go, they're on their way," he said. "Stay here, keep the doors shut."

"No problem," McKay said. The major was already gone. Lowrey gasped, gripped by a sudden fit of coughing, growing flushed. By the time it passed, Beckett had arrived.

McKay put an arm around Lowrey, afraid he'd faint and fall over. "It was close."

"I was in my quarters," Beckett said. "Almost caught up with the crew." He knelt to take Lowrey's pulse. "Come on lieutenant, stay with me. How're you doing, Rodney?"

McKay extracted a teeny shard from his knuckle. "Smashing."

---3---

In the medical bay, an assistant flushed McKay's eyes with saline while Beckett tended to Lowrey. Before lying down, the lieutenant had swayed on the table, stunned and mumbling.

While he waited, McKay slumped against a counter and inhaled oxygen between coughs, noticed his wristwatch was shattered. He took it off, tossed it to a tray. Multiple lacerations, caused by flying debris, bled through his clothing, scattered along ragged rips. Most of them were minor; all were painful.

How is he?" McKay asked, cloth to his head.

"Concussion. Be here overnight," said Beckett, covering Lowrey with a blanket. Shortly, he relinquished the remainder of his care to an assistant and went to McKay. "You weren't far from being toast."

"Vaporized." McKay poked at a tear in his pants. "If we'd only known." He slid the mask aside, let out a low moan. "There's probably a reference in the database. The planet's orbit, this particular shower. Should've secured the city."

"Next time you will." Beckett examined his head. "You can't know everything, database or no."

Sheppard came in, face smeared with black, voice hoarse. "Weir's inspecting the damage. Meteorite crashed right through. Guess the windows and walls aren't as tough as the roof."

"Brilliant." McKay sized up his wounds--at least a dozen, give or take.

"They gonna' make it?" asked Sheppard.

"Never the worse for wear." At the supply cabinet, Beckett removed a small oxygen tank and handed it to Sheppard.

"We have another problem," McKay said. "With the main console flattened, no telling how it'll affect the water system." He rose, unsteady. "I need to find out."

Beckett intervened. "You're in no shape. There'll be plenty of time." From above, they heard an abrupt thump and looked up.

"There goes another one," Sheppard said.

"The planet's intersecting with the meteor stream. It'll increase in intensity every time we pass through. Could last a few days, weeks." McKay tugged at his shirt; a cut in the center of his chest was especially bothersome. He sat down, grateful his breathing had normalized, that they had not been sitting at the console. "The water can wait."

---4-

Little Boy Lost

Lowrey recovered in a day. McKay remained an extra night. Beckett had been concerned about the abnormal amount of bleeding from what he'd considered a minor head wound. When released, McKay went to his quarters to change, deal with a headache. He moved gently, favoring his injuries, patched with tidy bandages. He took Beckett's pain pills, packed a couple in his pocket. While trying to nap, the feeling of ennui resurfaced and he gave up on sleep. Everything he did was futile in the end.

He rose and put on a boot, slipped one lace under the other and stalled, forgot what to do. Must be the bump on the head. Concentrating, he started again, got to the loop and paused, wondering. He closed his eyes, picturing the task, looping the lace deliberately. Success. The second boot was easier.

On the way to the purification station, he hummed a melody from a Brahms concerto, forgot the rest. It was disconcerting to be dulled, not his usual razor--sharp self. At the station, he sighed at the wreckage and stepped over the rubble which surrounded the destroyed console. In the rear portion, a misshapen, cratered meteorite had lodged into the base of the wall, cracked into three pieces. It had been scanned and cleared for radioactivity, poisonous gasses. Meteorites earthside, sometimes composed of iron, often disintegrated. This one had to be incredibly strong to survive the impact.

He summarized its course: It had broken through the window in the adjoining room--the safety shutters were usually retracted--and been halted by the floor. He estimated that it had penetrated at a twenty-five to thirty degree angle, breaking through the thinner walls, perhaps constructed of a weaker alloy than the floors. Sheppard's guess was correct. There were times the major surprised him, catching on to concepts fairly easily as long as McKay explained in layman's terms.

The red spray had tempered the fire; however, many of the vents had failed to activate, likely a problem with the power source, damage from the initial impact or insufficient data which might have taken into consideration a meteorite as big as a basketball boring through your house. It was possible that the Ancients had counted on their massive force field to protect them from the harsher side of nature. But like the terrors of the hurricane, the shield was useless unless it was actually working. A classic cascade of shortsightedness and pride, including that of earthmen.

There were several other water stations across this section of the city and from the status reports, they'd shut down at the time the meteorite hit the console. Currently, their potable water supply consisted of what was held in the Ancient storage tanks and what had been imported from Earth.

He boarded a transporter, one ATA--enabled, in a high security section, and tapped the display screen in the area representing the nearest station. Least he thought so. He had trouble remembering which was which. Perhaps the bang on the head was worse than Beckett had concluded. Medicine, a perfect guessing game.

He pressed a square, and the transporter activated. It was stuffy in the chamber. After it started, you couldn't tell you'd moved. And it was ground zero for claustrophobia. He sprung back against the side. The ugly hissing lizard had appeared on the floor, yellow and scaly. It wasn't...it was. Couldn't be. Don't feel dizzy or lightheaded. I've eaten. Doc said my eyes are fine. Pulse a wee bit fast. He put a palm over one eye, then the other. See clearly. It's not there. Superior intelligence augments a powerful imagination. I'm remarkable.

---5---

"McKay? Location please." Weir called on the intercom.

It seemed as though he were waking up. "I...I'm on my way to station two."

"They expected you there over half an hour ago."

"It's not working."

"Where are you?"

"In transporter four." He pressed the screen. "I think."

"Not working?"

"The haptic interface, ATA. I'm stuck."

"Hold on."

McKay realized he'd traveled out of the familiar sections and gotten lost. There was time missing; it upset him. The doors retracted and he exited, disoriented, walking into an empty space, a dim portion of the city that was unexplored and lonely. The doors shut behind him. He pressed the glowing panel and when the doors opened, he found the transporter had left. Listening, he heard his father's voice. It was eerie.

"McKay, where are you? I've just got this thing going." Sheppard was calling him. "You're supposed to be in here."

"I'm not sure. Can you send it back?"

"Roger that."

In seconds, Sheppard appeared in the chamber. The interface had worked well and innately for the major, telling him exactly where the last stop had occurred. "Something's not right with you," he said.

"Could you..." McKay stumbled over the question, finger hovering in the air. "...tell me what I'm doing here?"

"I can't. Maybe Beckett can." Sheppard pulled him in by the sleeve. "Come on."

---6---

Beckett shook his head over and over. "I don't know, I don't know," he said.

"That's extremely reassuring," said McKay. He rubbed his upper arms. "My skin's crawling. Feels like ants."

Sheppard supervised from the sidelines. "Gene therapy?"

"It's been too long to manifest this way," Beckett said. "Even so, I would've anticipated fever or hives, stomachaches, not a memory glitch. I suppose anything's possible. Any other complaints?"

"This is enormously tedious, and unnecessary. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do." McKay tried to leave.

Beckett put a hand on his neck, kept him on the chair. "Go with the program just this once, make it easier on me, all right?"

He leaned out. "Pardon me, shall I take that as criticism or advice?"

"Rodney," Beckett said, sighing, "...it's so very hard to tell when something's wrong with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's hyperactive." Sheppard rolled a metal cart his way. "See his eyes, they're skittish, like they want to run away."

"My eyes are not skittish. I'm gifted with surplus energy, that's all."

"Hypersensitive, too."

Beckett had gone to his medical terminal, brought up McKay's file. "Results after the fire were normal."

"Tell the doc what you saw." From the cart, Sheppard poured water from a pitcher into a paper cup.

"A lizard." He could smell its breath, see its leechy tongue. "A haphazard lizard."

Sheppard added, "He saw it on the elevator. There was nothing there."

"Why did I tell you?" McKay said. "I should've kept my mouth shut."

"You were agitated."

"Oh, dear." Beckett took out a pen. "Hallucinations? This is serious."

"It's real, on our last planet. An arboreal lizard, fell out. Didn't fall, just flopped out." McKay raised an arm and let it droop. "Hissed and spit. Positively gory."

"Wish I could've seen it." Sheppard said, drinking. "Eh, disgusting. Where'd this come from?"

McKay took the cup, tasted the water. "It's degrading. I told you, I'm the only one who can properly deal with the water situation."

"First some tests," Beckett said, writing. "Then we'll consider it."

Sheppard threw a paper towel over the pitcher, headed out. "Apprise me when he's good to go. He might get lost again."

---7---

R&R

After examinations on McKay's brain, its condition and functioning, Beckett found nothing of significance. He was perplexed. He had McKay experiment with several ATA interfaces. Some were successful, others weren't.

In cases where it failed, McKay sensed he'd merely forgotten how to go about it, the knowledge locked up, inaccessible. It no longer came naturally, such as it was, artificially induced through a needle. Yet he did not feel ill other than the headache. Finally, after a shipload of blood draws, he was released with caution to a babysitter: Sheppard, who volunteered, even finding him a notebook computer to replace the pulverized one.

As far as the water was concerned, McKay suspected that he would need to locate a reset switch or program that would restart the purification process. The entire system, like a blow dryer dropped to the floor, had stopped when it had discerned a problem. Sheppard accompanied him to two of the substations and while he worked, the major bided his time with PC paperwork. At the third station, McKay told him he could go, that he hadn't experienced further mind glitches or other symptoms. After consulting with Beckett, Sheppard resumed his duties.

Alone in the station, McKay connected his computer to the console, hunting for the elusive reset. He perused simple steps for tuning up the system, instructions he'd previously uncovered, and continued to another page. From that page, he found information that illuminated the mystery surrounding the decrease in production and concluded that the slowdown had been designed to lead into a scheduled maintenance. He advanced the page. This one had a message in bold text, large font. It read: I need rest and recreation. Go for it.

McKay frowned. The statements spoke to him, or were they from him? Had he typed them? He backspaced and continued the hunt, had no luck. The Ancient's database, located in the central control room, might provide a clue, and he decided to go there, study where he might have taken the wrong road.

When he arrived, two techs were immersed in their screens. He explored the database and again the bold letters popped up, suggesting R&R. He ignored them, hit delete, worried there might be a virus in the database and ran a scan. No viruses were detected.

He hailed the technicians. "You two experiencing any anomalies?"

They both said no, asked what type of anomalies.

"Never mind," he said. "It's nothing." It had to be a joke, a bug in the software. Before leaving, he searched the astronomical data and found an eyewitness account of a harmless meteor shower, none on the scale of a destructive storm. McKay left it at that; there were other problems to see to.

He returned to station three, checked his new watch. It was later than he'd guessed. He cleared out a few wanton files, crossed his fingers he'd make some progress before he became so frustrated he could scream. He pressed on, swallowing the pills from his pocket with lukewarm coffee. Seconds from a scream, he discovered the Ancient's roadmap of a type to reset the system. Accessing it, he brought it along step by step, and executed the program.

He reported his progress to Weir, proceeded to supervise the program's development. Bold letters scrolled up, carried the same odd message about recreation. Nothing to do with water purification.

"They make sense, don't they?" he said aloud, and strolled out, zigzagged through the corridors and into a transporter, out to a northside observation deck. From this spot, less of the city but more of the ocean could be seen. It was getting cold, and he breathed in the moist air. His headache was gone.

---8---

Brain Drain

"I've a theory," said Beckett. On a monitor, he generated four split-screen resonance images. "Rodney's got an unidentified chemical in his head, and it's not a proper guest."

Weir rolled her chair near. "Did your therapy cause it?"

"Lord, I hope not. I can't believe it 'tis. We monitored him regularly after the gene was delivered. It was a success, worked wonderfully."

"Until now?"

"I haven't determined that, can't rule it out." He enlarged a cerebral image. "But I do believe his nervous system's producing nitric oxide at variable rates. Sometimes too much, sometimes too little."

"How do you know?"

"Well, N.O.'s a neurotransmitter, a signaling agent, made by our brains. It's considered an oddball because it's gaseous." He brought up additional facts in a window on the monitor. "Can't be stored like the other transmitters. It's supposed to diffuse, doesn't have a local effect, so it can affect cells anywhere. However, it should only be produced when it's needed."

"When's it needed?" She scanned the information.

"When we exercise, when we're scared. It can dilate our blood vessels or, alternately, reduce the flow when we're at rest."

"If it's so elusive, how do you know Rodney's in trouble?"

"Because our results show his neurons are dying." He moved the cursor and it highlighted various regions on the brain. "Here, here. Whatever this foreign toxin is, it's synergizing with the N.O. and playing havoc with the levels. It's showing up but not always under the usual circumstances. It's unpredictable."

"Where'd he get this?" Weir said. "None of us seems to be affected."

"I don't know, I've called to get him in here ASAP. I won't rule out the planet either, although it's unlikely. Sheppard and the others haven't presented any symptoms."

"Couldn't it wear off, like any other drug?"

"It's possible," Beckett said, minimizing the images. "But if he loses too many cells, the damage will be irreversible."

---9---

"Can't think, can't let them see me like this." McKay sang the same refrain, reclining against the deck's retaining wall. He curled his arms around him, disturbing the wound on his chest. Since he'd escaped outdoors, his mood had digressed. Over the radio, Beckett had informed him of the bad news in his reserved and practiced, non-panicky, doctory sort of way: McKay, you're in trouble, get back here, we'll figure this out together, I promise.

He promised. He should promise, it could be his fault. Beckett hadn't thoroughly researched his gene therapy. They would never have approved such shoddy procedures on Earth. He'd rushed into the trial and I'd rushed in as a guinea pig. I was eager, trusting.

McKay knew his brightness, his cognitive and abstract skills were in jeopardy. And worse yet, his memory--the ability upon which everything else was built. So much of the Ancient's technology depended on mind control, but what if you lost control of your mind?

He took out and fussed with his pocket PC, selecting a random recollection of stored data, calculations. Some of the procedures eluded him. "I'm an idiot," he said, standing. He tossed it to the ground, kicked it into the outer wall and scanned the horizon, admiring the sunset. The ocean was far below, spread kilometers in every direction. A sailboat skimmed by--excellent R&R.

No. It's not real. I can do it. My thinking is irrational. Don't listen to me; I'm as unstable as a wormhole. Before everything goes, I want a reason for this disease, this imploding of the gray.

He went straight to the doors, intending to go to Beckett, but the disease asserted itself and he second-guessed the decision and froze, ruminating. Hanging around in front of everyone, watching them as they watched his intellect erode, aghast at how the mighty are falling, was a tragedy he would not confront. He wasn't going to wait until they began to talk to him s--l--o--w--l--y, until they started to repeat everything they said, saying it a little louder, a little more clearly, so he could understand.

Instead, he'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease. He felt rebellious, uninhibited, resolved. He would eradicate the ennui. And if his brain was to become part of history, it should be put on parade, lit up with Christmas lights, placed on exhibition for worlds to admire, where it would draw the masses: McKay's Institute for His Brain--complete with its own museum and annex and library stocked with supplemental texts on the Wonders of the Brain of McKay and how it'd gotten him everywhere and nowhere.  
He looked up. A meteor streaked across the sky. It was the bad guys. The Wraith were responsible for the meteors and meteorites. They're sending them, I know, and they will pay for it. This time, their overt offensive to eliminate him had failed, and Lowrey was collateral damage. It'd be wise to get them before they got to him again. Now I know what I'm here for. I will defend the ranks of Atlantis with courage. Dr. McKay who saved the day. No time for R&R.

"Might need my computer," he said. "Sidearm." They paged him for the third time. He responded, talked to Weir. "You got a gripe?" he said. She told him the water was pouring out saltier than pretzels and contaminating the storage tanks, what had he done to it?

"I'm on leave, ask Zelenka," he said, and hung up.

---10---

Misplaced McKay

"You've not found him yet?" Beckett said. He'd caught up with Sheppard on an observation deck. "It's getting late."

"I've been hailing. Nothing."

Beckett zipped his jacket against the wind. "How about your detector gadget?"

"Inconclusive," Sheppard said. "Don't worry. He's gotta' be somewhere."

"You've been to the far decks?"

"Except north. He wouldn't go that far."

They looked at each other, wheels spinning, then Beckett said, "This is a bad scenario, very bad. He told me the Wraith tried to assassinate him, with the meteorite." A cold gust sliced under the canopy and Beckett shivered. "John, I'm afraid I've damaged him. Perhaps irreparably."

"You don't know for sure," Sheppard said, going indoors. "McKay can take it, he's tougher than he looks." He led the chase, taking out the scanner. "Come with me."

---11---

Except for McKay's pocket PC, the north deck was unoccupied. Sheppard picked it up. "You don't think he...?" He couldn't say it.

Beckett peeked over the rail. "He's not melancholy, you said it yourself. He's hyperactive."

"Skittish eyes." Sheppard shone a flashlight across the divide. In the distance, the sound of the ocean breaking against the pier carried through the air. Someone hailed him, and he received the news that McKay had been spotted, acting weird. Handing the light to Beckett, the major activated his scanner's life signs option. "Nothing," he said, carefully searching the area. Small squares danced across the display. "Gotcha'-someone's riding up an elevator."

"Which one?"

"North of the command tower, second, third--whichever--highest. Best chance it's him. Not much traffic over there."

"It's a long way up," Beckett said.

Sheppard started out. "And down."

---12---

Leaping Monsters

McKay glided up, computer under an arm, riding the elevator to the highest point in the tower. So far, everything had gone well, except for a soldier he'd encountered in the corridor. Dr. McKay, he'd said, they're looking for you, are you all right, sir?

"Fine son, I'm going to the medbay now."

The soldier pointed down the hall. "Sir, it's that way."

"I know a secret passage."

The soldier seemed to detect something wrong, noticed the skittish eyes. "Sir, may I escort you?"

At this, McKay sprinted off and escaped through an adjoining room by locking the door. Thereafter, he took care no one could impede his quest.

The elevator approached the floor and the door slid back, lights came on. "Damn it," he yelled, and recoiled, struck his elbow on the map display. In the corner of the elevator entryway, stretched over half the space, was a web carrying a Wraith bug, the kind Sheppard had described, that had almost killed him. He was trapped.

"Couldn't be," he said, blinking and sinking into the corner. He pulled out his sidearm and watched it, motionless. It didn't budge either. How had Sheppard gotten it on his neck? He'd run into its web. They were not leaping monsters. "I should be able to simply..."

He put away the gun. On his back, he stayed low and scooted under the web, holding the laptop over his neck like a shield. He rotated, springing out as he cleared it, and stood up. It was gone. "Hell to pieces," he said, and set the computer on the floor. He removed his jacket, threw it into the elevator, assured nothing was really there. Then he re-entered, took off a boot and smashed the display screen with the heel. Getting out, he pressed the control panel, and sent the transporter back.

To business. No one knows what this city can do, he reckoned. Tonight, it's all mine, my own Antarctic outpost, thawed and cozy. He climbed the steps to the second level. They were bordered with Ancient writing like those in the gateroom. Their alphabet reminded him of pattern motifs in ancient Greece, crossed with Russian.

At the top, picture windows that nearly completed the perimeter encircled a spacious hexagonal room of beautiful filigree scrollwork. The creative Ancients had combined aesthetic with utilitarian qualities in their architecture, as if they valued them equally. Few impediments obscured the view other than the narrow framing between them. Two window panels on one side were open, the rest shut, the command tower dominating the skyline, a few lights outlining its shape.

In the center, a command chair like the one Sheppard had activated on earth was ready and waiting, resting upon elegant, irregular blue-green tiles. It was sleeker, decorated with the same wave-like metal craft on the headrest. Outside, another meteor descended into the atmosphere and he went to the window, watched it fade into the horizon.

"Seize the day, or night," he said, and sat down, spying a second fireball. "You're not getting by me again." The chair leaned back and illuminated, did not have a footrest. "Wouldn't it be great to take this city back into space?"

---13---

"What's wrong with McKay?" Sheppard asked. He and Beckett hurried down a hallway, out of the central complex toward the closest transporter. "He curable?"

"Hard to say," Beckett said, jogging faster to keep up. "I haven't identified the chemical. It's poison to him."

Sheppard stopped. "Get to your lab."

"I thought you needed me."

"This is going to take longer than I figured."

Beckett briefly considered it. "Call if you catch him."

"Don't worry, I always win. He won't be mistaking me for a lizard."

Beckett retreated a few steps, turned and said, "Hold a second," motioning Sheppard back. "Rodney said the lizard spit."

"Yeah. Told me it was more of a mist, actually."

"It's so simple," Beckett said. "I've been such a dunce. Why didn't I dig deeper?"

"That tell you something?"

"My therapy's not to blame." His face brightened, then became grave. "I'll need a sample from that thing."

"Talk to Weir. Send Ford."

"Thank the stars," Beckett said, nodding. "Rodney can still trust me."

---14---

McKay denied communications. The masses were exceedingly demanding. To save their lives, he would require absolute focus on the drones and their trajectory. A virtual display unfolded before him and he studied the topographic representation of the city in relation to the landmass and the sea. It was an island. Could the VR display track a meteor? It could. And he did. He retracted the window panels mentally, and they slid up into their frames, revealing the city 360 degrees, lit up only as far as it was occupied.

Experts, including himself, maintained the command chairs were not for the dense or frail of heart. They had naught to worry; the daring young man on the flying trapeze was at the con, and the parade was drumming round the corner.

---15---

Badge of Honor

"Major Sheppard." Grodin was on the radio. "We've tracked a UFO. Our information indicates it was a drone missile, headed for a descending meteor, west, southwest."

"Did it get it?"

"It followed it into the sea. Emerged from the second tower, north end."

"It's McKay. He's fooling around up there." Sheppard had reached the elevator and boarded it, gathered up McKay's jacket. Grainy shards crunched under his soles. The display curtain rose and revealed the crushed screen. "He didn't."

"Yes?" Grodin asked.

"This transporter's been disabled." He tied the jacket sleeves around his waist. It would probably be the first and last time he'd wear the Canadian flag.

"A minute. I'll search for an alternate route." Grodin was silent for a moment. "All right. Check your scanner. I'll guide if you need more help."

"Thanks." Sheppard's small screen mapped the path to another transporter. "And McKay says he's a genius."

---16---

McKay was on alert; the VR image vanished. A Wraith was on the premises. He smelled it, rancid like their hives. Bad breath, lizard breath. The bug had been an omen. He rose from the chair; it deactivated. Descending the stairs, he crept into the next room, sidearm readied.

It leapt out from the right, mouth agape, and he fired. The bullet lodged in a column. Nothing else was there. Play tricks on me, will they?

In the chair, he conjured up the VR, the miniature map of the planet and Atlantis. Meteors entered the atmosphere at an increased rate. They would not penetrate the city, hurt him or Lowrey or anyone else. Where was the lieutenant lately?

He aimed for three at once, dispatching the drones to disintegrate them. Duplicating the action, the VR simulated the scene while the drones shot high above the city, pursuing the intruders.

He felt something damp and checked his shirt. The large cut still bled, grown into a nice blot. It would be his badge of honor.

---17---

Major vs. McKay

"Geez all mighty, what was that?" Sheppard said. Two explosions had detonated in succession, prompting Weir to contact him, alarmed. He updated her on McKay and she suggested sending Jumpers to destroy the drones to which Sheppard suggested that starting a war with McKay was not a good idea. Reconsidering, she decided to deploy reinforcements to the tower. Sheppard said he couldn't be delayed.

"I'll stop McKay," he told her, arriving at the alternate transporter. "Give me time."

Grodin summoned him as he got on. "Major, we've a third drone, turning back toward the city. It's--"

A third explosion was heard. "My God," said Grodin. "We've been hit."

"Where? What's happening?" Sheppard had felt nothing.

"A minute, please," Grodin went silent, then, "That was close. It's not critical, the edge of an uninhabited area."

The chamber had come to its destination. "I'm here."

"Be careful," said Grodin. "We'll stay on the line."

"Peachy." The doors would not open. "I got a problem already," Sheppard said. "Doors aren't responding."

"I'm on it...you're blocked out. I'll try to override from here."

Sheppard waited, listening for explosions from the great outdoors. The city was big--the Ancients built everything big--but it was not indestructible.

The doors parted, and McKay stood on the other side, weapon poised in both hands, arms extended, aimed at Sheppard. His eyes were more skittish than ever.

Sheppard backed away. "Crap...no..."

"Major? Are they open?" asked Grodin.

"No...I mean yes. McKay? Stand down, don't shoot. Think about it. Come on mister, this is me." He put up his hands, dared to step forward. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"Who's there?" McKay said. "I won't fall for your tricks."

Grodin's voice was louder. "What's going on?"

"Not now," replied Sheppard. "Rodney. Listen to me, look at me. Me, Sheppard. Give me the gun."

"You're slightly familiar, somehow." McKay cocked his head, squinted. "Genii."

"I'm not Genii. This look like one of their hand-me-down suits?" Sheppard tugged at his lapel. "See? I saved your jacket." He pointed out the flag. "Thought you might need it."

"Where's Dr. Weir? What have you done with her?"

"Liz? She's fine. You can talk to her anytime you want."

"I'll do that. Soon as you get back in there."

He stepped up again. "I'm here to help. You've been poisoned."

"By you? I'm not afraid of you. In all likelihood, you're an illusion--disappear!" he said, firing a round toward the major's feet.

Sheppard fled, taking cover in the elevator. He pressed the panel button, hoped it would work. The doors closed.

"Grodin," Sheppard said. He took out his sidearm.

"Are you injured?"

"No. Tell Beckett I might need him after all."

---18---

The maple leaf was a nice touch. When it came to details, they were clever. But neither Genii nor Wraith will defeat me; I'm quite advanced, light-years ahead. You won't pick off any more of my friends. He strolled around the upper level twice, scanning the view without the assistance of the VR, contacting Weir.

"They haven't hurt you, have they?" he asked.

"Relax, Rodney," she said. "You're not feeling well, are you? Come down, we'll have dinner."

"Never sprightlier. I am hungry," he said. "They're relentless out there."

"Those are meteors. We aren't in any danger."

"You've been deceived." He gazed into the night, scrutinized his handiwork. "There goes another one," he said. "I have to get back to work. I'm still good for something."

"Please don't cut me off, we need to talk. You have a toxin in your--"

Shutting off the radio, he parked himself in the chair, unveiling his next spectacular maneuver. Every fireball deserved to go out in a burst of glory via the Mighty Brain of McKay. When this is over, with appropriate fanfare, they'll christen a town after me, a country, a planet. His actions are graceful, they'll shout---singing from the rafters, chandeliers and balconies, dancing in the halls of McKay's Institute for His Brain.

And gals he does please.

---19---

Counter Measures

Packing a sedative, Sheppard and Beckett ascended the tower. They had left Weir's reinforcements at the bottom, persuading her they would be ineffective for the time being. On the planet, Ford and his team were on their return hike and would be home soon.

The elevator doors were operational; the lights were on. This time Sheppard used the scanner, made certain no one was on the other side before they retracted. He exited first and tested the entrance to the hexagonal room. "He's got the doors sealed," he told Grodin. "See what you can do. But do not open it. I repeat, do not open it." He turned to Beckett. "Be ready for anything. We know he's not above discharging that sidearm."

A familiar boom sounded and Grodin spoke: "Another strike, major. He's at it again. This time he's really hit one, a meteor. Damn, incoming." There was a second explosion and the radio cut short.

"Grodin? Weir? Anybody," Sheppard said. He'd felt the explosion as a rumble in his gut, slight shake in the floor. When no one replied, he and Beckett considered abandoning their mission to help the others.

"We're here," Grodin said, finally. "We're okay. The drone's discharged mid-sea, it caused quite a panic. I'll get your door for you."

"Don't open it."

"Yes, I remember," said Grodin. "It won't until you press the panel."

"Sensible."

"And major, I should warn you, Dr. McKay has put several drones in motion. They seem to be orbiting, chasing objects that aren't always there."

"They're going in circles?" Beckett said.

"Yes. Somewhat chaotic. We're tracking them."

Over the line, Weir interrupted. "You must get him to deactivate them. Use force if you have to."

Sheppard affirmed and pressed the control, keeping cover at the wall. Sneaking in, they spied the top of the chair and McKay's arm.

"I was hoping I'd be first to try that baby out," Sheppard said, admiring the chair. "Lucky dog."

They climbed halfway up to the upper level, viewed the whole of the chair. McKay's boots were visible beneath it, laces dangling. They were impressed by the sight of incandescent drones soaring through the night sky, meandering through the city like guided fireflies, swerving in and out. McKay seemed to have placed them in a holding pattern and they flew rhythmically in relationship to one another, the VR display imitating the dance.

"He's an organized mind," Beckett whispered. "Even when he's out of it."

Sheppard reminded Beckett that McKay was capable of anything and they tiptoed up the rest of the stairs. They found him immersed in his task, eyes glazed, hypnotized by the colorful VR images, sidearm beside him. Coming around the right, Sheppard stole the gun, expecting resistance. In the distance, a drone intercepted a meteor and the resulting collision made the sky glow, buildings cast in a twinkling light.

Beckett sneaked around the left. "Rodney," he said, turning away from the explosion. "It's your old friend here. Could I ask you a favor? Will you call off the drones? The danger's over."

There was no reaction. The drones continued to orbit like comets. Sheppard untied the jacket from his waist and placed it over the chair.

Beckett resumed his efforts, speaking into Rodney's fixed stare. "It's not the gene," he said to him. "I'm certain now. See here, you're bleeding again."

McKay stirred. In an instant the doors below slammed shut, the VR image disengaged and he was up, swinging round, aiming for Beckett. Head tucked, he tackled the doctor in the belly, pushing him backward in a swelling momentum. The docter collapsed, slipping on the platform and off the upper step, tumbling down the stairs.

Sheppard, whose attention was drawn away when two drones collided nearby, missed McKay by inches. They detonated like fireworks, rattled the building. He rushed up from behind, wrapped his arms around him, squeezing his elbows against his sides. As McKay struggled, several of the drones dropped out of sync, changed their trajectory and united like jets in an air show squadron.

"Major, major," Grodin's disembodied voice cried, "Stop what you're doing, the drones are merging."

Sheppard called to Beckett, "Get up here," while McKay broke away, throwing a fist toward his chin. He dodged him; the fist slammed into his ear. Diving, Sheppard tightened his arms around McKay's waist. They both dropped, wrestling, and rolled until they were close to toppling down the stairs themselves. "The drugs," said Sheppard, restraining McKay at the platform's edge. He placed a knee on his chest, pinned his arms. Beckett groaned at the bottom of the stairs, sat up.

McKay writhed and kicked. "Let me go," he said, losing a boot. "The city belongs to us, we got here first."

Grodin reported more drones had been launched, shooting out the tower wall. "He's preset the sequences," he said. "We can't abort."

Sheppard grabbed McKay's jaw, demanded he look at him. "Call them off, you're sick. It's us for Pete's sake." He wanted to shake him until he understood, slap him into sanity. He checked on Beckett. The doctor was halfway up, arm across his ribs, staggering on each step. "Hurry!" Two drones made another revolution and buzzed past the windows. Their high-pitched whine pierced the tower; shimmering lights crossed the room.

Grodin told them reinforcements were almost there. "They can't do anything," yelled Sheppard, angry. He shook McKay. "Stop fighting me," he said. "Calm down." A battalion of soldiers or scientists--even killing McKay--would not stop the drones. They had to persuade him to call them off of his own accord. But Sheppard would try.

Beckett limped to the top, pale and bruising on the mouth. He knelt beside McKay and produced a vial and syringe, began to fill the latter.

"Not too much," Sheppard said. "We don't want him out."

"I know that." Beckett glanced at the drones. They had increased speed. "I'm not just a bloody punching bag." He drew back the plunger, measured carefully.

"Because if he falls asleep..."

"This'll do it."

Grodin was reporting a wayward drone strike near the south port; two others shook the windows, exploding midair. A fourth and fifth had targeted a meteor for destruction and were streaming through the sky.

Beckett injected the sedative, wiped his mouth and said a prayer.

McKay did not succumb right away. He argued, called them names they didn't know he knew. The detonations persisted. Weir's reinforcements knocked downstairs, labored to force their way in. Sheppard ignored their banging and watched McKay, felt him begin to relax. "Come on, Rodney, fall in," he said. Gradually, his eyes lost their skittishness and he quieted.

"He's humming," Sheppard said, and he released him, immediately going to the chair. It lit up; the VR would not, and the drones were unaffected.

"Brahms," Beckett said. He held McKay's wrist. "It'll only work for him. Let's get you up." Together he and Sheppard helped him into the chair.

Sheppard said, "Are you sure he didn't get too much?"

"Quit asking, I went to college," said Beckett. He placed McKay's hands on the armrests and spoke gently but quickly, eyes on the spiraling drones between words. He retold the lizard story, reminded McKay of the mist and the saltwater and the meteorite and Lowrey; Sheppard fighting fire; the head injury; hallucinations on the transport; assuring him the path to this place had its own crazy logic; that he'd promised he would find out what was wrong. He had plenty to live for if he would call off the drones, make them inert.

While Beckett talked, McKay seemed to listen, but the VR display had not activated and the drones still dazzled the dark.

"Let me try," Sheppard said, sweeping sweat from his brow. "He's on my team." He knelt beside the chair, McKay's blood on his clothes. "You got a lot of power there Rodney, right in that head of yours. We share that, you know, the gene, like Beckett here. That makes us kind of like brothers. Triplets. Well, maybe not triplets. Remember the bug? You saved my life, Ford's, Teyla's, the pilots. Did I say thanks for that? Do something else for us now."

"It's not working," Beckett said, holding his ribs. Another drone whizzed by.

"Shhhh...don't you have anything else?"

"What? More drugs? How's that supposed to make him cooperate?"

"All right, all right, just an idea." Sheppard grasped Mckay's sleeve, went on. "Listen, I'm tired of eggshelling around you, you killjoy," he said, raising his voice above another explosion. "I'm ordering you to cease fire and stand down. We're in immediate danger, and if you don't pull yourself together and stop acting like the pretentious little shit that you usually are then someone...like Elizabeth...is going to die when one of those hits and it's not gonna' be...."

McKay slowly blinked, turned to him. "Here," he said, pointing. "Right here." He reached for the major's neck, a hint of recognition on his face.

Beckett came round to Sheppard and folded back his collar. "The bite, he wants to see the bite."

"Now we're getting somewhere," said Sheppard, letting go the sleeve. He held his collar aside, revealing the puncture scar made by the Wraith bug. McKay brushed it with his fingers. In this interval of lucidity, the VR display reappeared over their heads.

"The drones, we don't need them," Sheppard said. "We're safe. The Wraith have retreated, we've won the city. Shut them off. Concentrate, you've done it before, in thirty-eight minutes, more or less."

His eyes fixed on Beckett as if requesting permission. "Go ahead, Rodney," he said. "It's all up to you."

He began to hum again and in seconds, one after the other, the drone-lights disappeared from the night.

---20---

Epilogue

"What's on the books?" McKay asked, awakened from bed rest. "Are I..." He paused to correct himself. "My neurons still pushing up daisies?"

"I can tell you it's slowed significantly," Beckett said. He stood at the foot of McKay's bed, unpacking supplies from a small box. "We're using an antidepressant and it seems to be of help. It's in a class of drugs believed to encourage neurogenesis. It was better than nothing."

"You don't have to be so positive."

"From our point of view, you're quite improved. You can actually carry on a conversation."

"I could've killed somebody."

"You didn't. Structural damage is, let's say...it's a very big city," said Beckett. "The triplets survived to tell the tale." He placed a few items on to the bottom shelf of a cart, straightened up with care. "And my tooth has been repaired, right as rain."

"Sheppard didn't actually say that, did he? I thought I was hallucinating," McKay said. "Your ribs?"

"On the mend."

McKay yawned, drew up a leg. "I was incredibly confused," he said, making an arching motion over the bed. "I could see the meteors through the windows, but from my point of view, the VR simulation was malfunctioning. I saw them, then I didn't. After you and Sheppard showed up, I released it on automatic, part chance. On one level, I had no idea what I was doing. I doubted everything." He touched his knuckles together. "I set some against one another."

"When it came down to it, you had enough reason to know you didn't want to hurt us, just the enemy."

"Sorry about the stairs." He adjusted his pillow and sat up. "The lizard. What'd you find?"

"Ford did an excellent job." Beckett tossed the empty box into a bin. "Creature really gave you a scare, didn't it?"

"Are you kidding? I wanted it for a pet, miss my cat."

"Uh-huh." Beckett came to the bed, winced as he sat at the edge. "You see, when you experienced such intense fear, your brain released the nitric oxide, which then bonded with an enzyme in the lizard's saliva," he said, pressing his palms together. "Depending on your state of being--emotionally, physically--the stress caused your N.O. levels to bounce erratically. Every time it skyrocketed, you lost a few cells and a lot of your common sense."

"How many did I lose?"

"Now, don't trouble yourself." He patted McKay's ankle. "Your cerebral cortex has over thirty billion neurons, a billion connections. If you counted one connection per second, you wouldn't finish counting for thirty-two million years."

"I do feel exceptionally clear-headed today," he said. "I wonder how I'll feel after thirty-two million years."

"Sleep's done a lot to improve your functioning, although I think the alien enzyme started to dissipate on its own after the tower. Full of surprises, wasn't it?" Beckett got up, picked up another box. "We'll keep monitoring you. You're going to be fine."

Sheppard arrived, carrying an armload. "Quit leaving your junk all over the place," he said, and he tossed McKay's jacket at the foot of the bed, put the pocket PC and computer on a table cart near the bed. "I'm tired of cleaning up after you."

"How are you?" McKay said, reclaiming his pocket PC. "Seen any good movies lately?"

"Weir's plucking her hair out," Sheppard said, hands on his hips. "Water's thirty-two percent saline." He smiled mischievously. "And rising. She's on her way over here right now."

Beckett said, "She should know better than to disturb a man who's been through what he's been through. I told her she needed to wait and see..."

Weir entered and Sheppard seized the pocket PC, replaced it with the computer on McKay's lap, raising the screen for use. "He's on the water problem, be fixed in no time," he said to her. "Rodney's feeling like his old self."

"That true McKay?" Weir said.

McKay closed the computer. "You know, Elizabeth," he said, stretching. "I don't even know what he's talking about."

The End


End file.
